CHARLES ASHMORE'S TRAIL
by Ambrose Bierce
The family of Christian Ashmore consisted of his wife,
his mother, two grown daughters, and a son of sixteen
years. They lived in Troy, New York, were well-to-do,
respectable persons, and had many friends, some of whom,
reading these lines, will doubtless learn for the first
time the extraordinary fate of the young man. From Troy
the Ashmores moved in 1871 or 1872 to Richmond, Indiana,
and a year or two later to the vicinity of Quincy,
Illinois, where Mr. Ashmore bought a farm and lived on
it. At some little distance from the farmhouse was a
spring with a constant flow of clear, cold water, whence
the family derived its supply for domestic use at all
seasons.
On the evening of the 9th of November in 1878, at about
nine o'clock, young Charles Ashmore left the family
circle about the hearth, took a tin bucket and started
toward the spring. As he did not return, the family
became uneasy, and going to the door by which he had
left the house, his father called without receiving
an answer. He then lighted a lantern and with the
eldest daughter, Martha, who insisted on accompanying
him, went in search. A light snow had fallen,
obliterating the path, but making the young man's
trail conspicuous; each footprint was plainly defined.
After going a little more than half-way--perhaps
seventy-five yards--the father, who was in advance,
halted, and elevating his lantern stood peering
intently into the darkness ahead.
"What is the matter, father?" the girl asked.
This was the matter: the trail of the young man had
abruptly ended, and all beyond was smooth, unbroken
snow. The last footprints were as conspicuous as any
in the line; the very nail-marks were distinctly
visible. Mr. Ashmore looked upward, shading his eyes
with his hat held between them and the lantern. The
stars were shining; there was not a cloud in the sky;
he was denied the explanation which had suggested
itself, doubtful as it would have been--a new snowfall
with a limit so plainly defined. Taking a wide circuit
round the ultimate tracks, so as to leave them undisturbed
for further examination, the man proceeded to the
spring, the girl following, weak and terrified. Neither
had spoken a word of what both had observed. The spring
was covered with ice, hours old.
Returning to the house they noted the appearance of
the snow on both sides of the trail its entire length.
No tracks led away from it.
The morning light showed nothing more. Smooth, spotless,
unbroken, the shallow snow lay everywhere.
Four days later the grief-stricken mother herself went
to the spring for water. She came back and related that
in passing the spot where the footprints had ended she
had heard the voice of her son and had been eagerly
calling to him, wandering about the place, as she had
fancied the voice to be now in one direction, now in
another, until she was exhausted with fatigue and
emotion. Questioned as to what the voice had said, she
was unable to tell, yet averred that the words were
perfectly distinct. In a moment the entire family was
at the place, but nothing was heard, and the voice was
believed to be an hallucination caused by the mother's
great anxiety and her disordered nerves. But for months
afterward, at irregular intervals of a few days, the
voice was heard by the several members of the family,
and by others. All declared it unmistakably the voice
of Charles Ashmore; all agreed that it seemed to come
from a great distance, faintly, yet with entire
distinctness of articulation; yet none could determine
its direction, nor repeat its words. The intervals of
silence grew longer and longer, the voice fainter and
farther, and by midsummer it was heard no more.
If anybody knows the fate of Charles Ashmore it is
probably his mother. She is dead.
~~~~~~~ THE END ~~~~~~~
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